


we're a work in progress

by soulofme



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Enemies to Friends, Gen, M/M, One-Sided Keith/Shiro (Voltron), Past James Griffin/Keith (Voltron), Pining Keith (Voltron), Post-Season/Series 07, Talking Shit Out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-11
Updated: 2018-08-11
Packaged: 2019-06-26 01:37:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15653106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soulofme/pseuds/soulofme
Summary: Friend. James Griffin. Two things that shouldn’t go together.But here they are, in Keith’s shitty motel room, having a fucking heart-to-heart.





	we're a work in progress

**Author's Note:**

> After seeing our boy James come through in s7 I had to write a fic where he isn't a bitter asshole so this was born. Also that look Keith gave him made me feel things lmao

The movies make saving the world look so damn _easy_.

You get some crazy powerful weapon, approach the bad guys head on, and just go apeshit. There’s a fight, always difficult and with some dramatic music highlighting everything, and then the good guys always, _always_ come out on top. It’s very simplistic, if you were to really break it down and analyze it.

The harsh reality of it is that being a hero is fucking exhausting. Keith wouldn’t trade being a paladin for anything in the world. Being part of Voltron has given him purpose, people he can consider family. It’s all very rewarding, when you look at it like that.

But it doesn’t change the fact that he’d been a kid when he’d been shot into space aboard a giant mechanical lion. It doesn’t change the fact that he’d been forced to grow up, far before he’d been ready to.

So, yeah. He’s stressed on a near constant basis. He doesn’t sleep very well, and he only makes time to eat because he’d die otherwise. He doesn’t do anything for his own pleasure, not now. He trains. He strategizes. He saves people. And when the day is over, he wakes up the next to do the same shit all over again.

Today is a slow day, though. They’re rebuilding what the Galra had stolen from Earth, like a sense of security and freedom. It’s tough work. Maybe the hardest thing Keith’s ever done. It wasn’t supposed to get this far. It hadn’t been their fight, not at first, but then it suddenly _was_. He’d dreamed of going back home, even if he had no one waiting for him like the others. Just the idea of closing his eyes and not worrying about being killed in the middle of the night sounded like a fan-fucking-tastic idea.

But like everything in his life, nothing works out the way Keith wants it to. They come home to an invasion and are thrust into battle without being able to emotionally come to terms with the fact that their home is in shambles.

Keith leans further out of the window, letting the warm breeze ruffle his hair. He hasn’t been back to his shack yet. Deep down, he knows he’s afraid that the last physical reminder of life with his father will be gone. But he won’t admit that to anyone but himself. Not even his mother, even though they’d stood side by side at his dad’s grave and bawled their eyes out.

Keith eyes the sun, squinting as the light shines right at him. It feels like a dream, to see it here. The blue sky, the white clouds. Thunderstorms, stars, just about everything. He’d taken them for granted before, probably because he never thought he’d almost lose it.

He steps away from the window and throws himself onto the bed. The Garrison offered all of the paladins housing, but Keith had been the first to deny them. He needed his own space. He loved his friends, sure, but he never got a chance to decompress everything that had happened to them over the years. They had to move on quickly, because there was always some other shit that needed their attention.

The motel isn’t anything fancy. It’s around half an hour away from the Garrison, close enough that he can get there in an emergency but far enough that he can fool himself into thinking that he’s not still stuck in an intergalactic space war.

There’s a knock on his door, one that startles him so badly he bangs his elbow on his nightstand getting up. He nurses it and stands with a curse, shuffling over to the door. Mom had stayed for a few weeks after he was in the hospital, but she and Kolivan had to continue gathering the Blades together. Maybe it’s one of the others, come to see if he wants to spend their unofficial day off doing something _fun_.

He nearly smiles at the thought. It’s almost ridiculous, seeing how much they’ve changed him.

Keith swings open the door and just _stops_.

Stops, because James fucking Griffin is standing in front of him. He looks the same as he did when they were teenagers, too pissed about their own personal problems to do anything but knock each other’s lights out.

“Keith,” James says, like he’s surprised Keith even opened the door.

“What are you doing here?” he asks. Can’t stop himself from doing so.

“I wanted to talk to you.”

Now isn’t _that_ something.

“We don’t have anything to talk about.”

“Maybe not,” James concedes. That’s new, Keith thinks distantly. The old James would’ve shot himself in the foot before agreeing with Keith. “But I have something I want to say.”

Keith’s not sure what possesses him to open the door wider and invite James inside. Maybe it’s his shock, or maybe it’s the genuine way James speaks. Like he’s not just fucking with Keith because he thinks it’s funny anymore. Like he actually wants them to sit down and have a conversation.

It wouldn’t have happened, just a few years ago. But a lot of things are different now.

“Don’t waste my time,” Keith says. It’s more reflex than anything.

James smiles. _At him_.

“I don’t plan to.” He sits in the busted arm chair across from Keith’s bed without any prompting, lounging back and folding his hands in his lap.

“So?” Keith crosses his arms and stands a safe distance away, just in case James decides he wants to recreate one of their earlier fights.

“I’m sorry.”

There’s no context to it. James just says it and Keith just listens. Listen being the operative word, because Keith’s a hundred percent sure he can’t understand them. James Griffin is apologizing to him.

How fucking weird is _that_.

“I’m sorry, what?”

James looks uncomfortable now.

“I was an asshole to you,” he says, not bothering to sugarcoat his words. “I was jealous of you and I didn’t know how to handle it. I shouldn’t have treated you the way I did.”

“Jealous?” Keith echoes, and wishes he had some kind of scathing response. His brain’s blank, though, and he’s forced to just gape at James like a goddamn idiot. “Of _me_. Of the stupid orphan you used to kick around?”

James flinches. It’s so fucking weird that Keith laughs, for a good minute or so.

“I wasn’t fair to you. I know that now. I wanted to apologize you for a while, actually. But I never really got the chance.”

“Yeah, well,” Keith mutters, waving his arms around. “We’re kind of saving the universe right now.”

“Yeah,” James whispers, an almost fond grin on his face. “You really made something out of yourself, Kogane.”

“What the fuck?” Keith rubs his temple, collapses onto his bed. “What are you even saying? What the hell happened to you?”

“I grew up,” James says, frowning. “I realized that I was an irrational prick and decided to take responsibility for my actions.”

“James Griffin doesn’t know the meaning of responsibility,” Keith snaps, because he’s an asshole. A _confused_ asshole.

“I like to think I do now.”

“Right. Because you’re all grown up.”

“You’re different too,” James murmurs thoughtfully. “Calmer.”

“I didn’t have a choice,” Keith says. It’s true. “You can’t exactly man the universe’s most powerful weapon if you don’t have a clear head.”

“You really impressed me, you know.” James shakes his head. “I kept telling myself that there was no way it was you. But then I saw you in action and realized it had to be. You always had potential. Didn’t always apply yourself, but everyone knew you were talented.”

“Even you?” Keith snorts.

James shrugs. “Especially me. It’s why I wanted to hate you.”

Keith flops back onto his bed, head spinning. He doesn’t know what to say. This feels like some kind of hallucination. Maybe he’s still floating up in space, going crazy from sleep deprivation.

“I’m not expecting anything from this,” James says. “I just wanted to get if off my chest.”

He stands, as if to leave, and Keith shoots up. Says, “Do you mean it?”

“Of course I do.”

James looks at Keith like he’s mental. Maybe he is.

“I’m sorry I used you.”

Keith never imagined he’d say the words. He’d felt them, more than once, but once he washed out from the Garrison he figured it didn’t matter. James Griffin wasn’t his problem. Their relationship had no substance other than sex, no purpose other than a hormonally-charged way to overcome the sheer amount of feelings they both had.

James’ brow crinkles. He steps back towards Keith, takes a seat on the edge of the bed. There’s a healthy amount of space between them. Keith’s eternally grateful for it.

“I couldn’t handle it,” Keith mutters. There’s a small, terrified voice in the back of his head, one that warns him against baring himself to James. He ignores it. “I didn’t know shit about relationships or feelings. I just wanted to—”

“Forget Shiro?”

It’s Keith who flinches then. That’s another thing he forced himself to keep hidden. You can’t save the world if you’re pining over your best-friend/co-pilot. He’d kept all of that under wraps, hidden from everyone, even himself. He told himself to be grateful that Shiro was alive, that they still had their friendship, and made sure he never toyed with the idea of anything other than that.

Anything else is dangerous, after all. There’s no weapon that can kill that thought once it’s born.

“Fuck,” Keith whispers, absolutely loathing the fact that he still manages to be so goddamn transparent at times.

“Do you still love him?”

Keith doesn’t respond. His silence must be enough of an answer, because James whistles softly.

“You should tell him.”

“It doesn’t matter anymore.”

“That’s bullshit and you know it,” James says decisively. Keith almost punches him. Muscle-memory or whatever.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I know you, though.” It’s infuriating how true that is. “I know that it’s eating you up, even though you’re too stubborn to admit it.”

“You came to apologize, right?” Keith grits out. “Mission accomplished. You can go now.”

“I want to help, Keith,” James says. “Not as your fuck-buddy. As your _friend_.”

Friend. James Griffin. Two things that shouldn’t go together.

But here they are, in Keith’s shitty motel room, having a fucking heart-to-heart.

“We’re friends now?” Keith can’t stop himself from laughing again. There’s nothing funny about it, he knows. But he doesn’t know what else to do.

This is _insane_.

“If you’ll let me,” James says. “Everyone needs someone to watch their back. Even you.”

Keith lies down again, staring at the ceiling. He focuses on the sound of his breathing, swallowing past the lump in his throat.

“You don’t have to make it up to me,” Keith tells him. His voice sounds strangely hoarse. “You don’t owe me anything.”

“I owe you a lot,” James says. Keith doesn’t ask him to elaborate. Doesn’t want him to. “Please, Keith.”

Please.

That’s his undoing, apparently. That one little word makes Keith question this whole conversation. James wants to help him. He’s not doing it to make a point. He’s doing it out of the goodness of his heart.

It shouldn’t be that simple. Being stuck in space taught him that no matter how simple the solution may seem, it’s never actually that. Things don’t magically fall into place.

If that were the case, he wouldn’t be pining after Shiro to this very day. Wouldn’t keep telling himself that there’s no point, that he should just move on and forget it. His brain doesn’t like moving on. Especially when Shiro is involved. It likes torturing Keith for as long as possible, waving what he can’t have in front of his eyes like a little asshole.

“Okay,” he says.

James gives his this _look_ , like he’s tearing Keith apart and then piecing him back together. He smiles then, which is still so fucking strange, and whispers:

“Thanks, Keith.”

Keith nods, all of his usual biting remarks stuck somewhere between his brain and his throat. He doesn’t want to think about this. He’s tired.

Tired of feeling too damn much all the time, tired of pretending that he’s fine, that he doesn’t spend every waking moment wanting _more, more, more_. If he’s going to move on from Shiro, this is the first step.

He just hopes he’s brave enough to follow it through.


End file.
